The Thin Line
by mkaz
Summary: Three months after the season finale of “Heroes,” Sylar has returned and is after his favorite cheerleader. He’s going to kill her this time…or is he? The first book of an ongoing series. Note: Claire is 18 and technically an adult.
1. Chapter 1

The Thin Line – Chapter One

Disclaimer: All characters are not the property of the author and are being used without the owner's permission.

Rating: M (Sexual situations)

Explanation: Three months after the season finale of "Heroes," Sylar has returned and is after his favorite cheerleader. He's going to kill her this time…or is he? The first chapter of an ongoing series. (Note: Claire is 18 and technically an adult).

Noah Gaither leaned back in the new midnight blue sofa and put his arm around his wife. She, accordingly, laid her head against his shoulder and sighed deeply.

"Is it really over? Can we finally go back to our life?" she asked him.

Noah opened his mouth, intending to give her the "company man" answer he had so long practiced: _Yes, we have our life back. Everything is fine._ But he couldn't lie to Sandra. Not anymore.

So, instead, he replied, "I don't think we'll ever go back to the way we were. But we have each other. That's most important." On the last words, he kissed the top of her head.

"Oh I just wish I could always keep our kids safe. Especially Claire. Oh, Honey, she's been through so much. First finding out about…herself, and then learning about her biological family, and…and…" Sandra stopped. She couldn't bring herself to say that man's name.

"And Sylar," Noah said gently. "I know. But we have a network of people like Claire, they look after each other, and they'll help us look after her. We're not alone, babe. Hey," he said, turning Sandra to face him, "we have a brand new start. New city, new house, new last name. No one knows about us here. We'll be ok."

Sandra smiled as Noah drew her into an embrace. Neither one of them believed that they were "ok" but the pretension was worth so much just by itself.

Upstairs, third room on the left, Claire Gaither slipped her nightdress over her head and brushed her yellow hair. Lyle had made some friends at his new school and was sleeping over at one of their houses—she finally had some time to herself. Not that it wasn't adorable: her normally irritating little brother was trying to be protective and was hovering around her constantly. She loved him, of course, and she missed him terribly after she had to run. But she wanted to be alone to mull over everything that had happened to her.

Things had quieted down, of course. The Bennets fled from Odessa to Washington State, had changed their names to Gaither. Claire's father now managed the Red Rose printing press in their hometown (all that time at Primatech had paid off, after all). Claire's mother stayed at home, which was fine with her, because she wasn't really ready for the world just yet. Claire and Lyle went to new schools. Claire was thinking of joining the cheerleading squad. It had only been a few weeks, so the family became so busy with the new adjustments that the more disturbing issues stayed below the surface; everyone just pretended to be preoccupied. But now they had their first truly quiet night, and Claire had no excuse not to think about everything that she had been through, had learned about herself, had learned to worry about.

When she was finished brushing her hair, Claire walked over to her bed and lay down on top of the covers. As she looked up at the ceiling, she heard her parents' voices coming from below. She could tell they weren't jovial in tone; they couldn't be after what they'd been through. But they were…intimate. Claire was jealous. Her parents were normal, and they had each other. She wasn't normal. She'd never be normal. How could she expect any man to understand that? And even if he could, Claire would constantly worry that one day she'd bring harm to him because she was different.

That was her worry with Zach. He didn't know where Claire was; her father thought it was for the best that they sever all ties with everyone in Odessa, and for once Claire agreed with him. She missed him terribly, and cared for him deeply, but after all she had seen, Zach seemed…fragile to her. She couldn't risk putting him in danger. Besides, Zach was sensitive and thoughtful. He deserved to find a girl who would appreciate that. Claire's life was too eventful for her to ever really be able to do that for him. No, leaving Zach behind was for the best.

Claire pondered the possibility that she might one day find a guy that was like her. And she did…sort of. After the night Peter Petrelli saved her, Claire was certain he had the same power as her—and she wasn't alone anymore. Oh, Peter was so kind, so brave, and Claire felt safe with him. But that couldn't be. It wasn't even a question of the age difference; that wouldn't always be an issue. Claire was 18, after all. She had had her birthday a month ago and she was an adult—in the most basic sense. But Peter was now her biological uncle. She couldn't even allow herself to think of him in any way except as a platonic friend. Sometimes she was angry that Nathan was her biological father. That would tie her to Peter's family. But, there was nothing to be done about it. At least she had people who loved her.

Claire's thoughts darkened when she thought of those who were on the opposite spectrum. In weighing the sides, she realized there was only one man who hated her—Sylar. She wondered if she could really say he hated her. She remembered learning in her literature class that the opposite of love isn't hate, but indifference. Which meant that there was a thin line between love and hate. So was Sylar indifferent to her? To her life, maybe. But he wasn't indifferent to her as a person. He had pursued her relentlessly. She had something he wanted.

Claire shuddered as she thought of those coal-black eyes looking right through her, sizing her up, taking her in. The incredible powers he had, even if they were from others, were formidable. He could break her like a twig if he wanted to. No other man had ever terrified her like Sylar.

She wondered if Sylar found her attractive, and then instantly chided herself for thinking it. But did he…? She had grown up being told by everyone that she was beautiful. What did Sylar think of her? Didn't he ever have…desires? It couldn't be that the quest for power had eliminated other…needs.

But Claire shook her head hard and told herself to stop. She knew that girls lusted after bad boys, but this was ridiculous! She slipped beneath her covers, and, surprisingly, fell into a deep sleep soon after.

He was close enough to Claire's window to hear her breathing become the deep, even sounds of sleep. Noiselessly, he climbed through the window and was in the room within seconds. At last, he was here. No self-righteous pretty boy, no irritating Japanese comic book geek, and no overweight cop here to stop him from getting what he wanted. Sylar had come a long way and he had killed a lot of people, but here was the goldmine. The key to immortality.

Looking down at the blonde haired cheerleader with the healing factor, Sylar contemplated doing it right there. But there was a good chance that she'd wake up, start screaming, and the Bennets would be upstairs before long. No. He didn't want to take any chances. The best thing to do would be to take her with him, and do it some place where he'd have privacy. She—this—was too precious to him.

He got out the bottle of chloroform he'd packed before he left, doused a rag in it, and quickly brought it down over her face. Claire's eyes shot open, and she began to writhe and scream beneath the rag, but Sylar held it tight to her face. Eventually, her eyelids fluttered and shut and she stopped moving. Sylar looked down at his victim and smiled. He'd doused the rag with enough chloroform to kill a normal human being, but he knew in Claire's case it would just put her to sleep a little longer than expected.

He wrapped her up in the cover she was sleeping in and climbed out of the window, his prize slung over his shoulder. As he got to the ground, he used his telescopic vision (a handy gift he took from a squirrelly little barber in New York several weeks earlier) to see if any threat was within the vicinity. When he was sure he was safe, he slipped away into the night, very pleased with how his little errand went.

Sylar had become adept with staying out of public sight, and had already secured a boarded up building that had formerly been a shoe store not too far away from the Gaither home. He got into the building, laid his prize down on a table he had already carefully prepared, and beamed down on her with pleasure. His hearing told him that she was alive again, but her pulse was very weak. Perfect. This was going to be easy.

Oh, but it had been so easy already. Sylar laid low for the first couple of weeks after Hiro Nakamura had stabbed him, recovering from the wound. Sylar now chuckled to himself, thinking that after he was done with Claire, a wound like that would take mere seconds to heal. But he did recover, mostly, and he was back to work. He discovered that the Bennets had moved without a trace after the election, but that wasn't going to be a problem. He simply followed Mohinder, who clearly wasn't smart enough to follow the Bennet's example. He remained in New York, staying near Molly Walker, "the tracking system." But Sylar bet that Mohinder would stay in touch with Noah Bennet.

And he did. After Sylar acquired the barber's power, he was able to spy on one of Mohinder's telephone conversations at the hospital he now worked for, despite being on the opposite end of the building. The piece of paper the Indian geneticist wrote on had the Bennet's name, address, and phone number. Poor Mohinder. He was so helpful—especially when he was trying very hard not to be.

Now Claire was laid out in front of him, like a luscious feast. So tender. So vulnerable. And Sylar had so much time. It gave him such a pleasurable feeling of power, to be able to decide when this girl was going to die. He'd decided before, with his other victims, but it was so impersonal with them. Claire…oh, Claire was different.

Ever since that homecoming night he admired her. He had mistaken her friend Jackie for her, and as he did his work, Claire fought him with every ounce of strength she had. He repelled her easily, of course, but she stood up and let him see her face as it healed from the impact with the wall. She could have lain on the ground, tried to play dead, but instead she chose to face him.

And then there was the destruction of her house. She had braved a nuclear fire to pacify Ted Sprague. And he knew that if she woke up now, she'd probably try to fight him tooth and nail, to the bitter end. He had to admire that. He felt close to her in way that he had never felt to anyone else, much less any of his victims. She was forever out of his reach, something he aspired to but never achieved. And isn't the best always saved for last?

Sylar put his face close to hers. The skin was golden, and flawless. The lashes were long and dusky, gently caressing her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted, revealing a point of white teeth. Beautiful. Flawless. He wondered what she might be dreaming at that very moment. She couldn't be dreaming of him, he thought smugly. She was very calm.

He was almost disappointed for a moment. Perhaps he did want her to dream of him.

Then, for reasons Sylar couldn't understand, he reached out his hand and gently touched her lips. Soft and supple—appropriate for a female her age. With his index finger he traced the lines of her mouth, then brought the finger to rest on her bottom lip. He rubbed it side to side, wondering then if it would awaken her. But it didn't. He could hear that her pulse was steadier than before, but it was still sleep-slow.

He took his finger away quickly. Why was he doing this? He brought the girl here to kill her, not to caress her in her sleep. But it had been a long time, he thought darkly. He hadn't had release in years. He thought that acquiring the powers he deserved would fulfill any sensual needs he had. But it didn't. He longed to bury himself inside of a soft warm female body, but who would want him now—after all he had done? It really was lonely at the top.

Claire was still asleep, and if she awoke, he'd do what he had intended. But for now…he longed for touch. It had been so long. And he might not ever have this chance again.

It was now that Sylar realized how flimsy the girl's attire really was. She was dressed for bed, after all. Her light blue silk nightshirt covered her to mid-thigh, the buttons not beginning until the hollow between her breasts. He was a little surprised that a good little girl like Claire would dress like this for bed. Then again, everyone had their…private choices. If Claire was his, she'd wear white lace. When he was a simple watch repairman, he saw girls that reminded him of Claire. They wore tight knit sweaters, short skirts, and high heeled sandals. Sometimes they'd look into his shop and then walk on to the yogurt shop next door, often pretending they hadn't seen him. Delicate, curvy, pretty girls who wouldn't gave him the time of day. If things were different—if they were all "normal"—Claire would have been one of those girls to him. But now he had power and she was at his mercy. He could do anything he wanted to to her.

Sylar found himself fascinated with the shadow falling on her clavicles. The collar bones were always a secret favorite on a woman for Sylar. Now he rubbed Claire's. He knew that if he pressed down hard enough, he'd break them. But oh, wouldn't it be a treat to watch her body heal? Just to give him a preview of what he could look forward to himself. That's when he realized that the skin was silky there, as it probably was everywhere else on Claire. Curious, he let his hands travel further, down to her breasts, and let them rest there, on top of the silk fabric. For a moment, he was surprised at the heat radiating from them, their soft weight. But he liked the way it felt, and his thumbs moved under her breasts, now cupping them. He could feel the nipples harden just below the pads of his middle fingers. Instantly he froze, in fear. Was she waking? The thought of her opening her eyes to find his hands on her was terrifying.

Why should he care? He was going to kill her anyway. But he was always so cold and removed from his work. He knew he was a murderer, but he never wanted to be a rapist. He somehow found it more brutal than taking a life.

But maybe it was also that he didn't want her to think that he wanted her, even if it was going to be the last thought she ever had. Looking down at his hands, still on his victim's breasts, Sylar wasn't so sure if he was going to have the chance to kill her.

Of if he could _bring_ himself to kill her…

But if he couldn't kill her, what was he doing? How could he let himself do this? In that instant, something inside Sylar's mind snapped. It was like he was a child who had eaten a cookie when he wasn't supposed to, and now, already being in trouble, decided to eat all the cookies there were. His reason was gone.

His hands left the girl's breasts and traveled to the inside of her right leg. The tips of his fingers skimmed her calf, up to the knee, rubbing the back of it. As a teenager he stole one of his father's Playboys which claimed that the back of the knee drove girls crazy. He never put too much faith in it until he rubbed harder and heard a light whimper come from Claire.

Oh God! Was she waking? He thought. But her eyes were still shut. His advanced hearing told him her heart had sped up slightly, but nothing above the level of consciousness. He continued.

Sylar brought his hand to her thigh, gently pulling back the silk nightshirt. He pushed the fabric up until her ribs, and drank in the sight. Claire's legs weren't terribly long, but they were shapely, and her hips and buttocks would be the envy of any classic film star. Her last great treasure was hidden by a pair of white cotton panties. _Good girl_, he thought. _No reason not to wear underwear to bed_. Instinctively, Sylar brought his hands to her sleek flanks, and buried his head in the flat surface of her belly. Oh, but she felt wonderful. Soft and warm smooth. He wanted to rip off his pants and plunge himself inside her right then and there.

And he would have, except he heard her heart begin to quicken and her breathing become louder and shallower. She was beginning to wake up.

Sylar panicked. What should he do? Should be douse another cloth with chloroform and put her under again. Then he'd….well, he'd do something.

Or he could let her wake up, kill her, and take what he wanted most of all.

What was that, again?

But he couldn't face her. Not after what he had just done. Besides, it would be hard to instill fear in a victim while having a massive erection. He had to run. Just leave her there, and run.

He knew where she lived, after all. He'd find her again…and finish what he started.

She waited until she was sure he was gone. Even when she thought she was sure, she wasn't so sure. But she opened one eye, then the other, and looked around. No sign of him. Cautiously, she sat up and searched the room. He wasn't there.

Claire looked down at her front, touching her breasts where he had touched them. She couldn't believe he had done that. What was more, she couldn't believe that she had been able to lie there, pretending to be asleep the entire time. The chloroform had knocked her out, to be sure, but the moment she felt his hands on her breast, she had awoken. But she remembered the last time she had been in such intimate contact with him—she had stood to face him and would have been killed if not for Peter. She wasn't going to make the same mistake again; she was going to play dead.

Sitting in that dark room, afraid, Claire began to see the line between love and hate blur.


	2. Chapter 2

She'd dreamt about him again.

She was sitting in class, strangely wearing the light blue nightshirt she wore that night he kidnapped her. It was her philosophy class she took last year, and her teacher, Mr. Wilkes, had just written the words "love" and "hate" on the board.

"Now class, as we learned from our reading of _Moby Dick_, love and hate can share one quality: obsession. No matter how much we may revile and despite a person or thing, we may be attracted to it by an obsession to possess it. It is a terrifying feeling, class, when we are attracted to something we have been taught to hate."

At this point in the dream, Claire always realizes that it's no longer Mr. Wilkes teaching the class, but Sylar, wearing the thick black glasses and plaid pants that are always associated with her teacher. He looks straight at her, a devilish look in his eyes, and walks over to her desk, leaning over her in such a way that she is trapped. His face is so close to hers that she can feel his hot breath on her face.

"You know something about this, don't you, Claire?" Sylar always asks. Claire replies by screaming in terror and the dream usually ends right there.

Fortunately, her screams never penetrated the waking world. She'd only awake in a cold sweat, heart racing. Her encounter with Sylar was now nearly a month ago, but it might as well have been the day before.

Her parents didn't even know she had been gone.

Once Claire had calmed down enough to leave the abandoned building, she quickly realized where she was and managed to get home on foot. She got back to her house, terrified that her parents had missed her and she would somehow have to explain what had happened, but when she looked in the window, her parents were still downstairs, now watching a movie. She must have only been gone a few hours.

She snuck in through the backdoor which Lyle, much to her relief, must have forgotten to lock when he left that night. She crept silently up the stairs to her room. Once she was there, she looked around in terror, afraid that perhaps Sylar was waiting for her. But no, the room was dark, cool and silent. Shaking, Claire pulled off the nightshirt she had been wearing and put on a pair of pajamas. She couldn't stand to wear that garment tonight, or any other night again—not after what had happened to her while she wore it.

Sylar had taken her cover when he had kidnapped her, so she pulled another one from her closet, and, crawling into bed, wrapped herself tightly in it. Not surprisingly, she couldn't sleep, but surprisingly, it was not because of fear.

Her body still was sensitive from where Sylar had touched her. She couldn't stop thinking about it. He had aroused her, in ways that had never happened before. Not that she hadn't been attracted to other men. With Zach it had been a childlike love—she felt innocent with him. With Brody it was a flirtation; he was handsome and popular and she knew she would belong. Peter, as always, she couldn't think of. But he would always be her knight in shining armor; he represented platonic chivalry.

But Sylar…he awakened violent desires she didn't know she had. She wanted to bite him, to dig her nails into him, to pull his hair. She wanted to wrap her legs around him and ride him like an animal. She hated him more than anything else in this world. But she also wanted him just as much.

And after what he had done that night, he must feel the same way…

But even while feeling these violent emotions, Claire felt terrible guilt. How could she lust after the man who had brought such misery to her family and friends? He killed Jackie. Granted, Jackie was a bitch, but she was still a human life that Sylar had taken. Her father had risked his life to protect her from Sylar, as had Peter, and here she was, fantasizing about him?

And what if he came back…? Maybe this time he'd just try to kill her. She almost hoped that if she ever had to face him again, that's what would happen. Because she wasn't sure if he seduced her, that she would be able to resist him.

Her parents didn't suspect anything. The feelings of fear and unrest that she wore on her face were easily excused by the events of the last few months. Her mother tried to encourage her to go shopping, to watch movies, even to participate in after school activities, but Claire could barely focus on the things she needed to do.

One day, after having grown tired of being stuck in the house all day, wallowing in her own fear and confusion, Claire asked her father to drive her to the library.

"Is it a school thing?" Noah had asked her as they pulled into the parking lot.

"No, I just thought it might get be fun to get lost in a book," she answered.

Her father looked at her in that probing way he did when he suspected that there was more going on than she would admit. "You know you can tell me anything, Claire-bear," he said gently.

Claire smiled weakly. "When something comes up, I'll be sure to let you know, Dad. But for now, I just need time to myself."

Noah smiled back. He wasn't entirely convinced, but she was becoming an adult and he was beginning to realize that there would be things that he just couldn't help her with. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I'll pick you up at four."

Claire got out of the car and watched as the silver SUV circled the lot and turned out onto the road. She could never tell him. How could she explain the feelings she was having? She'd seem treacherous and ungrateful if her father knew that she had desires for the man he nearly died protecting her from. No, she would have to resolve this issue by herself.

Claire had been searching the library catalogs and databases for nearly an hour, and still hadn't found what she was looking for. She couldn't even say what she was looking for exactly—something having to do with desire and hatred, maybe something pertaining to human psychology. Claire wasn't even sure if her psychology worked the way normal people's did. She sighed and closed down the last database she was searching. It was hopeless.

She walked up to the second floor of the library, looking at random titles, feeling listless.

Suddenly she heard a voice behind her. "You look like you are lost."

Claire jumped, and turned around. The voice came from a man, who appeared to be of Japanese descent. He was dressed in a nicely tailored suit and shiny brown wingtips. He was older, but with the carriage of someone who had once commanded great power. Nevertheless the look in his eyes seemed genuine.

Claire smiled. "I'm not lost, exactly. I just don't know quite from I'm looking for."

"Hmm," the man replied. His voice was deep and resonant, with only a hint of an accent. "That is normal for someone of your age. Perhaps I can help, if you are willing to tell me all of your concerns." He walked slightly closer to Claire, far enough to maintain a respectful distance, but close enough to appear intimate to anyone passing by.

Claire was a little unnerved by the man's presumption, but something told her she could trust him. "I'm…feeling things I've never felt before. And part of me is telling me that they are wrong and I need to fight it, but another part of me is dying to indulge in it."

The man nodded. "This probably isn't something we should discuss here on the floor. Perhaps we should find a more private place to talk. I am a volunteer librarian here, and I have my own office. Does that sound good?"

Again Claire was taken aback by the man's forwardness, but strangely he seemed to know her, and even more strangely, she felt she knew him from somewhere as well. With some reservations, she agreed.

When Claire entered the man's office, she was struck by the beautiful art and sculpture in it. She was no art connoisseur, but the pieces looked old and expensive. She sat down in the brass chair while the man sat behind the desk.

"Now," he started. "You said you are having feelings that disturb you. These are…undiscovered passions, I take it?" he seemed to by trying to put it as delicately as he could.

Claire's eyes widened. "Yes. How did you know that?"

The man chuckled. "When you've lived as long as I have, you learn that there are very few emotions that can tear you apart the way passion does."

Claire looked down, all of a sudden feeling shy. She wished she hadn't come here, even if the man seemed to understand. She was too young to feel this way.

"You feel that at your age, you shouldn't have discovered passions this strong," the man remarked, almost as if he read her thoughts. "But you are wrong. When I saw you, I knew that you were special. You have endured more at your age than most people will ever face in a lifetime. That will make other things come to you earlier as well."

Claire looked up at the man. "I had accepted that," she told him, the emotion growing in her voice. "But what I feel—for the person I feel it for—is wrong. It would be wrong no matter how old I was. I…I hate him! He's done so much damage, hurt so many people. And I'm afraid of him. He…he once tried to kill me. But I escaped him. But he's caught me again. He had the chance to kill me, but instead he…toyed with me. And…I don't know what he wants from me."

"You're afraid that you'll meet up with him again, and you'll give in to him."

"Wouldn't you be, if you were me? There are people, people that I love dearly, that have worked hard to keep me safe. If I give in to him, I'm betraying them!"

The man furrowed his brow in thought. Then he asked, "Did it ever occur to you that perhaps he's giving in to you?"

Claire wiped away the tears that had fallen. "Giving in…to me?

"Yes. This man seems that he had a master plan for his destruction. But now he is beginning to alter his usual path. You just said that his original plan was to kill you, but now he changed what he's done. He's rethinking his aims. You can use that to your advantage. If he does have any feelings for you, you've found his weakness. Exploit it. Bring him down. If he is as evil as you say he is, then you know there is no happy ending to the passion you feel."

Claire sighed heavily. "I don't know if I'm strong enough."

The man then stood up from his chair and walked to the front of his desk, leaning on it. "You must take his strength and make it your own. True power is not given to you; you must take it. Make your passion your weapon. That is the only way you can be free."

Claire was silent. The man helped her from the chair and walked her to the door. "You will need to think about this. I know. But you must not wait too long. I have a feeling that you will be confronted with the situation sooner than later. You must be ready."

Claire nodded and smiled sadly. "Thank you for all you've done, Mr…"

"Nakamura," the man replied. "It was my pleasure."

Claire looked at her watch and saw that it was a little past four, which shocked her. She had no idea so much time had passed while talking to Mr. Nakamura; it had only seemed a few minutes. She quickly made it toward the exit, only to find her father and Peter Petrelli waiting anxiously for her.

"What's wrong?" she asked once she reached them.

"It's Sylar," Peter said with distress. "He's back. He killed a man in New York over a month ago."

Claire could feel her heart pounding, but she tried to appear unconcerned. "Well, that's New York. We're all the way in Washington state," she said.

"If he's alive, you're in danger, Claire," her father said. "He's moves fast, and you know you're on the top of his list."

Claire opened her mouth to speak, but her father motioned for her to be silent and all three of them got into the SUV and drove away.

"So what are we going to do?" Claire asked from the backseat.

"We have to get you someplace safe," Peter told her. "My mother is supposed to meet us at the airport. She's taking you to Paris."

"Paris!" Claire exclaimed. "We just settled down here, I just got my family back, and now you're making me leave again?"

"Claire-bear, it's for your own safety," Noah told her. "If you stay here with us, he will find you and he will kill you."

_I'm not so sure of that anymore_, Claire thought to herself. She looked up to find Peter staring at her with a surprised look. She then remembered, with alarm, that Peter had absorbed Matt Parkman's powers and could occasionally hear thoughts. Had he heard her? She knew she had to be careful and cover her thoughts.

"Well, maybe he's learned his lesson when he faced Peter last. Maybe he won't come after our group again," she reasoned.

"Still, we can't take that chance," Noah said, stopping the car at the red light. Peter looked at her carefully, then turned back to the front.

Claire rolled her eyes and looked around. The little shops, the park—all the things she was beginning to enjoy—they were about to be taken from her again. That man! He was ruining her life. She wanted to kill him. To hell with the fact that he made her hot. She wanted him to suffer the way he had made her suffer.

She looked over of her window and her eyes widened in surprise. He was standing there! It was several hundred yards away, but she could never mistake him. He was dressed all in black, his dark eyes piercing right through her. A smug smile was set on his face. Three months ago, this would have terrified Claire to the core. But today her face was cold with rage.

With no second thoughts, she opened her car door and jumped out just before the light turned green. She could hear her father and Peter's voices behind her, calling her name, but she paid no attention. He was after her, and she was going to lure him away from hurting the men she loved.

As she ran in his direction, she realized he wasn't there anymore. She then darted into the park and ran down the paved path reserved for jogging. She knew in a few seconds her father and Peter would catch up to her, and she just couldn't let that happen. Impetuously she darted into the bushes by the path and began wading through them, heedless of the sharp tiny briars that stuck into her skin.

At last she reached a clearing inside the woods, far away from the street and its noises. She knew she was deep now. A dead body wouldn't be found here for at least a few days.

She was afraid to turn around. Because something told her, he was there. But she had to turn around sometime. She did, and sure enough, there he was, his eyes dark, his mouth twisted into a sinister grin. "Well, don't you just find the best surprises in the woods?" he said nastily.

Claire heart raced, but she steeled herself and said in the calmest voice she could muster, "Here to finish the job you started, Sylar? I didn't know you fancied rape as well as murder."

The grin fell from his face and his eyes lost some of their sinister shade. That hit him hard. This was her chance. Claire held up her hand to strike him, only to find herself flying through the air seconds later and slammed against a huge oak tree. Apparently being stabbed through the chest didn't affect his telekinesis.

Claire felt a rib break. But she stood up, pulled up her shirt, and popped it back into place. The cut she felt on her head was already beginning to close up. Sylar was still standing in the same spot as before. He seemed mesmerized by watching her body heal itself.

Then he was walking towards her. Claire stood her ground quietly while he lunged and wrapped his hand around her neck. "I had just been toying with you," he said, although he didn't sound so convinced of it.

"Of course," Claire said in a suffocated voice. "My breasts make the best toys."

Shocked, he released her and she fell to the ground. "So, you were awake the entire time," he said quietly.

"Most of it," Claire said, remaining on the ground. "You've got a very gentle touch for a homicidal hardcase."

Instantly, Claire regretted saying that. Now he knew that she had enjoyed at least part of what happened. He smiled, and with his telekinesis brought her back to her feet, within inches of his face.

"I didn't know you felt that way towards me, Claire dear. I'm flattered," he purred.

Suddenly a flash of anger ran through Claire and she scratched him across the face with her nails. "I'd never feel anything for a psychopath like you!" she cried.

Sylar growled in anger and recoiled. His eyes were practically glowing as the diagonal scratches Claire gave him began to bleed.

"Big mistake," Sylar said in his daemonic voice. With his mind he once again threw her against the tree and pinned her there. Enough playing. He was going to get what he wanted.

Claire gulped back a sob and stared up at the sky. This was it. He was going to kill her. But at least she had lured him away from Peter and her father. At least they were safe. And before she died she had passed her gift on to Peter. He would be there to stop Sylar.

But he didn't kill her. Instead Sylar pressed himself against her. He had pinned her several inches from the ground, so that they were at eye level. Claire looked at him in shock. She could feel his hardness pressing into her, and for all of her resistance, she began to feel the tell-tale pull in her stomach of arousal.

"I know you want me," he growled. He wrapped one arm around her waist while with the other he tore at the crotch of her jeans. Claire yelped as she felt cool air hit her in the spot.

"You and I are supposed to do this, Claire. The sooner you accept it, the easier it will be," Sylar whispered in her ear.

"No..." Claire sobbed. "No, not you…"

She felt his palm make contact with her mound. His hand traveled up to the waistband of her panties and found its way inside. She felt his fingers make contact with her flesh and knew that he would discover how wet she was. She trembled, trying to look away.

"Don't try to deny it!" Sylar shouted, forcing his fingers inside of her. Claire gasped in shock. It had hurt when he did that, but on the edge of the pain was pleasure that terrified her.

"You want me. _Say it_," Sylar demanded, the palm of his hand pressing against her clitoris.

Claire wasn't prepared for how good that would feel. Unconsciously she pressed herself against that hand and moaned quietly. Sylar grinned and began to pull away. After all, if she didn't want him, he shouldn't make her.

"No, please," Claire begged. It had felt so good.

"Please what?" Sylar teased cruelly.

Claire gritted her teeth. "You know."

"No, I don't think I do. Maybe I should just let you go," Sylar taunted.

He had expected her to cry, to whimper, then he'd drop her and walk away, leaving her feeling used and humiliated. He hadn't expected what she did next.

Claire wrapped one leg around his body and grabbed his hair, pulling his forehead against hers. "Give it to me," she growled determinedly.

That did it. Sylar pressed his hand against Claire once again and began to move in and out, creating a rhythm. Claire ground her body against his hand, moaning without restraint.

She began to feel tension building in her, cresting. She looked right into Sylar's eyes and said, "It's coming! Oh, it's coming," and she felt her insides burning while being drained at the same time. She threw her head back and cried.

Sylar gasped in surprise, his own breath ragged and uneven. He'd never done anything like this before. He could feel his fingers being bathed in her juices as her insides clenched down on them. Ohhh…if it felt like this when he was teasing her, imagine how it would feel if they went all the way…

Still pinned to the tree, Claire wrapped both legs around Sylar's waist, both arms around his neck. He pulled his hand, glistening, from between her legs and wrapped his arms around her waist, their foreheads pressed together. Both of them panting, but not yet ready to look each other in the eyes. But then Claire focused on his face, and noticed the blood she had drawn from the scratches on his cheek. She ran one finger over a scar, looked at the blood on her finger, and, looking him right in the eyes, put it to her mouth and sucked the blood off.

Sylar glared at her. What had happened to the sweet, innocent little cheerleader he had been pursuing? Claire was vicious, hungry, and utterly irresistible.

He was ready to lay her on the ground and have her right there, but his hearing told him that two people were approaching. He looked in the direction of the voices and could see Petrelli and Bennet coming through the brush. He released his embrace of Claire and looked toward the trees, then back at her.

"We'll meet again," he said simply, and ran off.

Claire watched as he disappeared, then, remembering her torn jeans, pulled her jacket close about her and zipped it up to hide it.

A few seconds later, Peter and Noah were there, embracing her, asking if she was all right, looking her over for injuries (which was fruitless, they knew, but it was instinct).

Peter looked at Noah. "She's in shock. But I think she's all right."

Noah drew his daughter close to his chest. "Thank God he spared your life. It's a miracle."

In a few hours, Claire was showered and in bed, presumably asleep. The Gaithers and Peter gathered downstairs to go over what had happened. After her ordeal, they decided it was best to hold off on taking her to Paris, anticipating that Sylar would think they would do something like that. Now they had to decide what would come next.

"We're never going to be rid of that man, are we?" Sandra asked in despair. Noah pulled her against him on the sofa and let her weep into his chest. He then looked up at Peter, who was staring off into space and clutching the arms of his chair tensely.

"Peter, what is it?" Noah asked quietly.

Peter was about to reply, then looked at the red eyed Sandra and said, "It's been a long day, that's all. I need to go," he rose from the chair and gave Sandra a kiss on the cheek, then went to shake Noah's hand. As Noah grasped his hand Peter pulled him in closer, whispered, "Call you in five minutes" and quickly left the house.

Noah managed to send Sandra away to their bedroom in just enough time for the phone to ring. He answered it. "Yes?" he said tensely.

"Something happened to Claire. I fished it out of her thoughts after we found her," Peter said in a hoarse voice on the other line.

"Did Sylar hurt her? What happened?" Noah said, in his defensive fatherly tone.

"I-I don't know. All I was able to get from her was something like, 'How could I do this?' 'I shouldn't have let it happen'—something like that. Whatever happened, Claire feels that she did something wrong."

Noah closed his eyes in relief. "She was probably just feeling guilty for bolting out of the car and worrying us, that's all."

"Maybe," Peter said, unconvinced. "But I also picked up a name. It was very faint, probably at the very back of her mind. But it might mean something."

"What was the name?"

Peter swallowed before he answered. "Nakamura."

Noah felt his veins go cold. He was sure Claire wasn't thinking about Hiro Nakamura; she hadn't met him yet, and besides, the boy was harmless. No…it was probably time to look up an old friend—unless that old friend already looked him up and had talked to his daughter. But he needed answers, and he needed to find them alone. He slipped back into his "company man" mentality and felt the coolness and distance come over him.

"Thank you, Peter. I'll be in touch," he replied, and hung up the phone.

"Wait! Noah!" Peter called into the phone, then realized he was yelling at a dial tone and hung up. He knew something; Peter was sure of it. Claire was his niece; he was her protector, he decided. He was going to get to the bottom of this and make sure that her life wasn't ruined—no matter what that meant.


	3. Chapter 3

He gasped as the ice cold water hit his skin.

Sylar stood under the shower, letting the needle-like bursts of water hit his back, shoulders, legs. He run his fingers through this hair and let the droplets of water fall into his open mouth. He trembled from the coldness, but it still wasn't working. He still felt "hot and bothered" for lack of a better term to think of. That fresh-faced girl was driving him crazy. Why couldn't she just be like any of his other victims: cowardly, ignorant, useless? He felt no remorse for killing the others, because he knew that they didn't deserve what they had. He was doing them a favor, in fact; they would never have learned to harness the incredible power they possessed the way he had.

But Claire…she was almost his equal. She seemed to have no fear of him—until he seduced her, of course. And then, once he did, she was like an animal!

Sylar closed his eyes and surrendered himself to thinking of that smooth tanned skin, those sad sweet eyes, those luscious curves untouched by no one but himself. She had been a virgin. Once he had a chance to clean himself off, he realized that his fingers had blood on them. He had never been with a virgin before.

He'd only had sex once, and he paid for it. Well, not in the traditional way. He was in his senior year of high school, and Katie Muller, one of the "popular" girls, came to him pleading for him to write a paper for her for English, knowing that he was an exceptional student. She offered to pay him anything, but he merely smiled and told her that the only payment he'd accept would be a night together. She looked terrified and infuriated simultaneously, but she agreed. And Katie definitely wasn't a virgin. So it had meant as little to her as he tried to make it seem it meant for him.

Having de-virginized little Claire, it was so clear. She belonged to him. He'd have to find a way to take her power, but keep her alive as well…

What? Sylar actually slapped himself in the face for thinking that. He was _Sylar_. He didn't know remorse, mercy, love. He took what was his and didn't look back. Who would he be if he denied himself the one power that he'd wanted for so long?

Why did Claire have to have what he wanted? Why did his prize have to come in a vessel that made him mad with desire? Spare her, and be mortal, vulnerable. Kill her, and never have the chance to lie between those gorgeous golden thighs.

Her power over him was already becoming clear. Just a few hours after his encounter with Claire in the woods, Sylar happened upon a new power, right out in the open, without the help of Mohinder's little list. It was an older man, who lived not too far away from where Sylar was hiding. Sylar saw him trying to get into his home, cursing that he had forgotten his key. Then he saw that the old man's hand began to stretch, and, looking carefully around him, he sent his arm under the door and opened the lock from the inside. _Cellular flexibility_. Very handy.

But when Sylar had formulated his plan of attack, instantly the image of Claire, pressed against him, her eyes burning while he brought her to the heights of pleasure, flew through his mind. And he couldn't do it. He spared the life of that old man, thinking only of what his newfound lover would think of it. All of his work so far, his entire reason for living…wiped out by the memory of a few moments of passion.

Sylar suddenly used his powers to shut off the water, and then hit the shower door with his fist. His face was wet, but it only took him a few seconds to realize that it wasn't from his shower, but from his tears. He slipped to the shower floor and cried in frustration.

Only a few miles away, Claire was also bathing, lying in a tub of warm water, trying to rid herself of his scent and the filthy way she felt. She was almost certain that her parents were practically sitting right outside the door, guarding her. She sighed sadly. They couldn't protect her. If Sylar wanted her, he'd get to her.

But…she wasn't so sure if she would be against that.

Claire closed her eyes and shivered when she thought of what happened. Sylar's warm breath on her neck, his fingers deep inside her... It had been her first time, and it had hurt, but it felt good too. And then there was the way it ended, with their arms around each other, her licking his blood off her finger. If her father and Peter hadn't come at that moment, they might have ended up having sex. No, it wasn't merely a possibility; it was definite. She was so weak-willed that it would have happened.

She asked herself again: how could this happen? How could she be so weak? She sat up in the water and rubbed her temples. Then she remembered what Mr. Nakamura had said: _You must take his strength and make it your own. True power is not given to you; you must take it. Make your passion your weapon. That is the only way you can be free. _

"Make passion my weapon," Claire said out loud. "I know what to do."

Hikaro Nakamura was admiring a portfolio of art from one of his favorite Baroque painters in the Special Collections department of the library. He heard footsteps behind him but didn't have enough time to react. Rough hands grabbed him from behind and spun him around.

It was his old friend, Noah Bennet. "I want answers, Hikaro!" Noah demanded in Japanese.

Nakamura looked down at the hands grabbing his collar, then back into the eyes of the man he had known many years ago. "You look good, Noah, considering what you've been through," he said in English. He walked out of Noah's grip and began to put the portfolios away.

"Cut the cordialities, Nakamura. What did you say to Claire the other day?" Noah demanded, switching back to his native tongue.

Nakamura looked back at his persecutor and chuckled grimly. "You still think you can protect her, don't you? Of course, of course. You raised her like your own child. It makes sense that it would be hard for you to let go."

Noah walked over to the man. "I don't intend to let her go. She needs me."

"She has her own battles to fight, my friend. You can't tread where she must go."

"Why?"

Nakamura sighed. He didn't want to be the one to have to tell his old friend this. "Come with me," he said at last.

The two men walked down the empty corridor, flanked by rows and rows of books. Nakamura explained, "You know of Claire's power. You knew she was special for some time. But, what you don't know, is that it is her destiny to save the world."

Noah was confused. "Save the world? From what?"

Nakamura smiled. "From Sylar. One of the most powerful human beings that ever lived."

"How can she save the world? He's too powerful for her—for any of those with abilities."

"Yes," Nakamura said darkly. "My own son tried to stop him. He retarded Sylar's movements, for a while. But as a result, he is lost on a new adventure." The powerful businessman looked distantly to the end of the room. "I have no idea where, or when, he is. I do know that he's very far away. I don't know if I'll ever see him again." Nakamura saw the sympathetic look on Noah's face and motioned for them to keep walking.

"I thought Hiro would be the one to stop Sylar. But now I see that he can't be destroyed. There is only one option left, and that is where Claire figures in."

Noah began to feel a chill run up his spine. "What is Claire supposed to do?"

Nakamura smiled bitterly at his old friend. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes, yes, I do. I can't stand not knowing."

"Yes of course. You always had to be in control; isn't that correct, Noah? Well you can't control this. Claire is beginning to discover the duality of her nature."

"What duality?"

"The light and dark that lives in her. That lives in most people, although it is not usually as much of a struggle for them. It is in her _genes_, Noah. The great capacity for compassion and goodness, but also for acts of destruction and violence. It runs in her family, all of whom have abilities on some level or another."

"What does this have to do with Sylar?"

"Sylar must endure the same struggle. Did you think he was born evil, Noah? It was his greed, his selfishness that have taken him over. He has gotten to the point where his powers have made him virtually unstoppable. But, if he can be…distracted, he perhaps can be turned."

"_Turned_? This is _Sylar_. This is a man who's killed people, without mercy, and with pleasure."

"I am not naïve. It will be a long, consistent struggle. But it is possible. Sylar can be used for the greater good. But someone will have to mold him."

"And this someone…is Claire?"

Nakamura smiled. "Of course. Tell me Noah, what is Claire's greatest strength?"

Noah looked at him with puzzlement. "Her healing factor, of course."

Nakamura shook his head. "You, of all people, should know Claire's greatest strength. It's her beauty. Both inside and out. _That's_ what Sylar is attracted to. Her healing factor is—has always been—secondary."

Noah put his hand to his forehead. "So what you're saying…is that I'm supposed to sit back and let a serial killer seduce my daughter?"

Nakamura put his hands on his friend's shoulders. "She's not your daughter, Noah. You may love her like one, but she's not yours. She belongs to herself, now. And the "serial killer" won't be doing all the seducing. I have a feeling Claire will be doing a good deal of it herself."

Noah looked at his friend with a mixture of horror and disgust. Nakamura just laughed.

Instead of doing her homework, Claire sat at her desk in her room, trying to formulate a plan. She was going to bring down Sylar. She was going to seduce him, wait until lust had made him most vulnerable, and then…kill him…somehow.

There was a knock on her door. It was her mother. "Hey hon, there's some mail for ya," Sandra told her.

Claire stood up from her desk and took the small envelope from her. "Thanks, Mom," she said with a smile. She put the envelope on the table and sat back down, pretending to do something on the computer.

Sandra leaned against the doorframe, looking at the girl she had raised as her own, so close to her, and yet so far away. She wanted to say something, she felt the need to, but she didn't know what. Finally, she said the first thing that came to mind.

"I'm sorry."

Claire stopped what she was doing and looked at her strangely.

"I mean, I'm sorry for all that's happened to you. I know you didn't ask to be born this way. And if I could, I'd make it all better." After Sandra had finished, Claire gave her the kindest condescending smile she could.

"I know how 'lame' that sounded, but it's how I feel, damn it," Sandra barked.

Claire stood up again and gave her mother a hug. "I know, Mom. I know," she whispered into her mother's shoulder. "It'll be fine, really. I haven't come this far to be beaten now."

Sandra was little surprised at such a somber reassurance from her 18 year old daughter, but she smiled and said, "I'll leave you to your work." And she left the room.

Claire turned her attention to the piece of mail addressed to her. She looked over the envelope and noticed there was no return address. Heart pounding, she slowly opened the seal and pulled out a small piece of paper. It was written in black felt ink, bold clear strokes and block lettering.

It said:

412 RYAN AVENUE, FRIDAY, 6 PM. COME TO ME OR I'LL COME TO YOU.

Claire needed saving, even if she didn't think she did. Peter wasn't going to let Sylar play mind games with her, lure her into a trap and take her gift. He had faced the serial killer before and, while he wasn't victorious, he knew what was in store for him. But before he could do anything, he needed answers. And if Claire wasn't going to tell him, then there was only one other person who might know.

Peter stood at the reception desk of the Red Rose press and asked for Noah Gaither. He was eventually allowed to travel to the fourth floor, and, after asking for directions, found the former Mr. Bennet at his desk.

Noah looked up at his visitor, smiled, and took off his glasses. "Peter. What can I do for you?"

Peter shut the door behind him and walked up to the desk. "You can give me answers. The moment I gave you Nakamura's name you clammed up. You know something."

Noah looked over Peter's shoulder out of the window of his office to see if anyone was nearby. But there wasn't and he turned his attention back to his visitor. "I know very little, Peter. But what I do know is that there isn't much we can do."

Peter was stunned. "How-how can you say that? Claire is your daughter--"

"And she's your niece. I know," Noah interrupted. "But she also has a future she has to face by herself. She is the key to saving the world from Sylar."

"But he'll kill her!"

Noah shook his head. "No, he won't. Not that I prefer the alternative, but he doesn't want to kill her anymore."

"And how do you know this?"

"Nakamura told me. He's an old friend."

"Hiro?"

"No. Hikaro. His father."

Peter ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "And you're sure you can trust this guy? Haven't all your experiences taught you that you can't always believe everything you hear?" When Noah was silent Peter leaned over the desk. "Look, I know you feel powerless. But something tells me that Claire is in danger and I have to help her. And…I would prefer to have you with me." Peter straightened and walked toward the door.

"Wait."

Peter turned back. Noah was putting on his jacket and walking towards the door.

"Let's go. She should be home from school by now."

Claire was finished packing the last of her things. She didn't really know what you were supposed to pack when you were about to face a cold-blooded killer who was hot for your body, but she thought she did well: matches, a flashlight, $50 in cash, a couple of granola bars, a bottle of water, a jacket, and a kitchen knife. But then she remembered that passion was supposed to be her weapon. So she changed from a t-shirt and sweatpants into a pair of tight dark blue jeans, a low cut pink sweater, and high heeled boots. After spraying herself with some perfume, she took a look at herself in the mirror. She looked like she going out to get lucky, but she was packed for pulling a "Buffy" and then skipping town.

The letter had said 6 pm Friday, which was today. Sylar had given her just enough time to receive the letter and develop a plan for action. She took a deep breath and headed down the stairs.

But her mother was there, as she was trying to leave out of the back door. "Claire honey! Where are you going?"

Claire turned to face her mother. "I just need to go out for a little while, Mom. I'll be back soon," she lied with a smile.

Her mother walked towards her. "Hon, why don't you wait until your father comes home from work? He'll drive you anywhere you want to go."

Claire's smile fell. "I can't wait for him, Mom. What I need to do, I need to do alone."

"Claire, it's not safe for you to go out. That Sylar man is out there, waitin' for you!"

"I know he is," Claire replied gently. "That's where I'm going."

"No!" Sandra cried, grabbing Claire's arm. "Have you lost your mind? He'll kill you!"

"He didn't last time," Claire said slowly. Oh God, was she really going to tell her mother?

"That's because Peter and your father came in time, Claire. Who knows what would have happened if they hadn't?"

"They didn't come in time Mom," Claire said in an eerie voice, now pulling her arm out of her mother's grasp. "They missed what happened…we…we finished before they got there."

"Finished what?" Sandra asked with horror.

Claire couldn't bear to tell her. "Mom, I'm going to finish what I started. I'm going to kill him. I'm the only one who can."

"No! No Claire, I won't let you!" Sandra tried to grasp Claire's arm again, but the girl slipped by her and ran to the front door. Claire had just gotten there when Sandra grabbed her from behind and spun her around.

Without thinking, Claire pushed with all her might and sent her mother crashing to the ground. Sandra looked up at her with the most heart-wrenching look imaginable. But Claire remained resolved.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Claire said, catching her breath. "But this is something I need to do." She picked up her bag and calmly headed out the door.

Noah and Peter arrived only a few minutes after Claire had left, but they were too late. They entered the house to find Sandra slumped on the sofa, crying. Noah dashed to her and held her in his arms, asking her what happened.

"Oh she's gone after him, Noah! Our baby's gone to face that killer—and I'm afraid I'm never gonna see her again!" Sandra moaned in despair.

"Sandra. Did she say anything about where she was going? Anything that might give us a clue?" Peter asked.

Sandra shook her head and sniffled. "Nothing. I just know she got a letter today…"

"A letter!" Noah said to Peter. "We need to go upstairs and see if she left it."

The two men ran up the stairs to Claire's room and tore through everything they could find. They were about to give up hope when they found a small envelope crushed in her waste paperbasket. Noah unfolded it, only to find with disappointment that there was no letter inside, merely the envelope with no return address.

"If only Molly were here," Noah said with a deep sigh.

"Can't you call her?" Peter asked.

Noah shook his head. "Don't know where she is. I've lost touch with most of our…group since this thing first happened."

Peter looked at the envelope again, then slowly smiled. "Maybe all isn't lost. Look! The post office stamped the zip code of the return address across the stamp!

We can't know exactly where she is, but at least we can find the neighborhood!"

"94080. That's not too far from here," Noah said. He looked at the younger man. "Come on. Hopefully we'll reach her in time."

Claire walked listlessly down Hartford street which adjoined Ryan Avenue. She looked at her watch and saw that there was a whole hour left before the specified meeting time. She sighed and looked into the windows of the little shops. In one, she saw a girl a little younger than herself looking at necklaces with her mother. The two seemed to be having a lovely time together, laughing and talking and comparing different pendants. Suddenly Claire's eyes filled with tears. That could have been herself and her mother, only a year ago. But she had just thrown her mother to the ground in order to meet a man who either wanted to kill her, ravage her, or both. Such was her lot in life. She wasn't destined to be normal in any way.

Claire wiped away the tears with the back of her hand and looked around. She nearly jumped when she looked across the street and saw her stalker, looking nonchalantly into one of the shop windows. He seemed to be looking at the watches on display in the window, and he looked to be mesmerized by them, laying his hand on the glass as if he wished he could touch them.

So. Finally the element of surprise was on Claire's side. She quietly walked across the way, hoping the loud noises of the street would mask the sound of her steps. She was only a few feet from her nemesis and he still didn't seem to have noticed her. From behind, he cut quite a striking figure: tall, lean, dark. Claire could understand why part of her would be attracted to him. But she knew beneath that alluring exterior beat the heart of a killer. And she was here to make sure he never killed again.

So she decided to announce her arrival. "Killing time too, I see? You didn't have to pick anything out for me, though I appreciate the sentiment," Claire called, as bravely as she could.

Sylar spun around. Claire noticed that the scratches she gave him were still visible, but were now more of a pinkish color rather than red. "Getting quite cocky, aren't you, Claire?" he answered, although Claire could see he was visibly moved by her presence.

Claire looked over his shoulder at the watches. "You like watches?" she said. Why was she making conversation with this man? She must be more nervous than she thought.

Sylar smirked and looked back at them. "I used to repair watches. That was how I found my gift. I could see how things worked."

"And once you saw how things worked?" Claire inquired, moving a little closer to him.

"Then I could see how to fix them," Sylar answered, then turned around to find, with surprise, that Claire was closer than arm length to him. "Or, as the situation is now, how to mimic them."

Claire smiled sweetly. "Why don't we go someplace more private and talk? I'm sure we both have things that need to be said."

Sylar was struck by the dangerous, seductive tone of her voice. But he was not about to be intimidated by a five foot three, 100 pound cheerleader. He smiled back and replied, "412 Ryan is only a short walk from here. We'll simply move up our meeting time."

Claire just nodded and allowed him to lead the way. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears as she followed the man who once tried to kill her—who might try again, in fact. Either way, she decided, things were going to end right then and there.

412 Ryan turned out to be a large house on the very edge of the shopping district. Sylar held the door open for Claire, which the latter found surprisingly gentlemanly. He then stepped in front of her and led the way. They walked up a flight of stairs until they got to a small door at the very top, which Sylar had a key for and opened the door. Once she entered, Claire was surprised at how much room there was in the apartment, if that's what it was. But perhaps it was because there was little or no furniture. The only noticeable object in the room was a paint canvass and a table with brushes.

Sylar walked ahead of her and drew the blinds, thereby reducing the amount of light coming into the room, although the sun was beginning to set. Claire looked behind her, escape at the back of her mind, but Sylar slammed the door and locked it with one deft move of his wrist.

"Finally. Alone," Sylar said in a deep voice. Claire looked at him, wondering if the terror was showing on her face.

"I have something I want to show you," Sylar told her, and quickly took her hand, which was tense and limp, and led her to the front of the canvass.

Claire gasped when she saw the picture. It was clearly the two of them, in the woods as they had been the other day. They were locked in an embrace, their foreheads pressed together, exactly as they had been after she and Sylar had had their...moment.

"I painted this the day after I kidnapped you," Sylar told her. "That's how I knew where to find you the other day—because I knew this was meant to happen. What I don't know, is what this means—for me."

"You-you can see the future?" Claire asked him.

Sylar chuckled. "I can—now. It's a little ability I picked up from an artist named Isaac Mendez when I was in New York city."

Claire ground her teeth in disgust. How could he talk so casually about killing someone? "An ability you picked up?" Claire demanded, her voice rising. Sylar actually stepped back in surprise. "Picked up? You mean stole! Cutting into someone's head, butchering them like an animal!" With that, Claire grabbed the painting off the canvass and threw it against the wall.

With every ounce of strength she had, Claire threw herself at Sylar, knocking him to the ground. While he was stunned, she took the opportunity to dig her nails back into the cuts she had already given him. He yelled out in pain.

"How do you like that, you son of a bitch?" Claire demanded. She leaned over and bit deep into his neck, drawing more blood, which caused him to scream again. "You thought you could take advantage of me—that I was just a weak little girl! Well, I've learned from my run-ins with you and…I'm…going…to…" Claire was having trouble getting her words out; her air passages were being restricted. She put her hands on her throat, then looked down at Sylar, whose eyes became dark with malice. He was using his telekinesis to choke her!

She began to move off of him, trying to crawl away, while Sylar stood once again, blood running down his cheek and neck. "Claire, you are very nearly my equal, but you also underestimate me like so many others have." He walked towards the crumpled form on the floor. Just as Claire was beginning to lose consciousness, Sylar flicked his wrist and allowed her windpipe to expand again. Claire gasped for breath and coughed while he rubbed her golden hair with his hand. At last, weak, she lay on her back on the floor while Sylar leaned over her.

"When are you going to realize I don't want to kill you?" Sylar ran the back of his hand over her cheek. "I want to understand the power you have over me."

Claire stared up at the man who was supposed to be her enemy. His touch was so soft. She began to wonder if his lips were as tender as his fingertips. She had the sudden urge to take his head in her hands and pull his face down to hers for a kiss. She was almost sure now that he would return a kiss as fervently as she could give it.

But she dismissed the intention from her mind. She had to resist temptation. She had come so far already. She just needed to make him drop his guard, and then she'd be rid of him for once and all.

"But you see," Claire said between breaths. "There's a problem. Because I want to kill you!" With that, she sat up pulled the kitchen knife she had slipped in her back pocket when he wasn't looking and tried to stab him. But Sylar was too strong. He wrenched the knife out of her hand, and with a mere index finger, sent her flying across the room, the knife flying swiftly behind her.

Claire felt her back hit the wall, hard, and then something sharp pierce her skin, right up to her lung. She looked down, and with surprise, saw the kitchen knife buried in her right breast. Her feet were a half a foot off the ground. Sylar had pinned her to the wall with the knife.

She felt like her chest was on fire. It was probably the worst pain she'd ever felt—worse than being hit by a car, worse than falling off a building. And she could barely breathe. She wished she could die right then and there, the pain was so excruciating.

"Why you do you keep forcing me to hurt you?" Sylar asked her, drawing near. "You--you do something to me. I don't know what it is." He licked his lips. "Did you know that I found someone else with a power the other day? I saw him—his limbs had incredible elasticity. He didn't know I was looking when he lost his key and he stretched his arm under the door to open it from the inside. I could have so easily taken his power. But I didn't. It wasn't important. All I wanted was another chance with you again. You're the only thing I want anymore."

"You could be lying," Claire said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I have no reason to trust you."

"Do you trust what you feel?" Sylar asked.

Claire felt that she was going to lose consciousness, she was in so much pain, but she closed her eyes, swallowed, and fought to stay awake.

"I feel afraid," she whispered.

"You don't need to be afraid of me--"

"I'm not afraid of you! I'm afraid of me!" Claire cried out as loudly as she could muster. Her voice came out like a croak. Her mind flashed back to all of the things she had done—had allowed to be done to her. She had darkness in her. The darkness terrified her.

Sylar's eyes widened. What was going on here, between the two of them? There had been such a perfect equation between them: she, the prey; he, the predator. She was to be his food, that nourished his spirit and made him strong. But, now…he felt that the roles were reversed. This young girl, pinned to the wall with a knife puncturing her lungs, she had the power over him. She didn't make him strong; she made him weak.

Sylar closed his eyes, and, with a wave of his hand, caused the knife to fall from Claire's chest. Claire gasped from the removal and fall to the ground, coughing blood. Sylar stood there, watching the huddled form, until eventually Claire stood up, the front of her sweater covered in blood but otherwise without a scratch on her.

Sylar looked her over. She was so beautiful. Strong, and defiant, and with a vicious streak that he found incredibly sexy.

Before she could protest, he took her in his arms, sliding down to kiss her. She seemed to passively accept the kiss, but when they broke away, she said, with complete sincerity, "I hate you." And she did hate him, but now she knew she couldn't kill him. It was as if the part of her that cared about everything else in the world had flown away. She felt reckless, ruthless, powerful.

Sylar chuckled evilly. "I know."

Although the living room was bare, the next room had a bed in it. Made sense. Even homicidal maniacs needed their rest, Claire reasoned.

Clothes pulled off. Lips kissing frantically. Arms, legs entangled. Not a word of rationality was spoken.

Claire looked down at the man that just a few months ago would have taken advantage of her lust and killed her. Now she was in control. She was using passion as her weapon, just as Mr. Nakamura had told her.

Sylar was a tall man, and he was definitely built proportionately. Claire had to ease herself onto his long thickness, and when she finally was done, she felt she could barely breathe. But when she looked down at him and saw the fiery look in his eyes, she knew what to do. She bent down to kiss him, her hair falling like a golden curtain on each side of his face.

Peter had unwittingly heard thoughts, but they were so disturbing he couldn't bear to tell Noah.

They had wandered the district of the zip code for an hour, with no luck. No one could even say they had seen anyone matching either Sylar's or Claire's description. They were about to give up and look elsewhere when Peter heard something.

_Ohh, God this feels so good. She's so warm, and wet and tight._

Peter's eyes widened in horror. Sylar was raping Claire! He had to find them fast. But he had to keep it from Noah at all costs. What greater horror is there than a father finding his daughter being raped?

"Peter? What is it?" Noah asked with concern.

Peter snapped out of it and looked at Noah. "Nothing. Just thinking. Listen: we didn't really take a good look in that café over there, or in that bookshop. Why don't we split up and check them out, then meet back here?"

Noah eyed Peter suspiciously, but, much to Peter's relief, agreed to look in the café. Once Noah was in the store Peter ran in the direction of the thoughts he heard.

Eventually he came to a large house on the corner of the district, and as he tried to tune in again, he heard yet another chilling thought: _She's so beautiful—she belongs to me._

Peter raced up the stairs, until he got to a locked door. He was just about to burst in when he heard another thought, this time coming from Claire:

_Ohh he feels so good. Oh what am I going to do after this is over?_

Peter was horrified, but he had to know what was happening. Using the telekinesis he got from Sylar, he broke the lock on the door, and immediately made himself invisible. He could hear soft groans and moans in the next room, and he tiptoed over to it. The sight he saw in that room instantly made him feel violently ill.

Sylar was lying on a bed, and Claire was straddling him, her head thrown back in ecstasy. His hands were on her hips, moving her back and forth. Finally Claire's moans began rising in volume, turning into a scream of satisfaction. A minute later Sylar gripped her hips and pulled her to him, at last letting out a gasp of release.

Peter shook his head in disbelief, and somehow made his way out of the apartment and back onto the street. Claire wasn't being raped. She was doing it consentingly, and seeming to enjoy it a great deal! How could she do this? He then remembered one of the thoughts he'd read from her before: that she was asking herself that exact question.

All Peter knew was that he felt betrayed. And he couldn't face Noah. Remaining invisible, he left the district as fast as he possibly could.

When Claire opened her eyes, she realized she must have fallen asleep. She turned over, and with horror found herself lying next to Sylar. Then it all had come back to her. She slept with him. She seduced him, had sex with him, and had fallen asleep. She remembered everything, but almost felt like someone else had done it, using her body. But no. It was her. She was responsible for everything she had done.

Sylar was asleep, and he actually seemed at peace. All traces of malice, greed, sadism were washed from his face. Claire looked at him and wondered if, perhaps, there was a time when he had been a good person. A slight smile had formed on his face, and Claire couldn't help but smile too. Maybe he was having a dream.

But then her smile fell. She remembered who this man was. How many people (that she knew of) he had killed. How he had tormented her family, had tried to kill Peter. He was heartless. She was sure of it.

Or was he? He had just shown a great deal of vulnerability in the last hour. Maybe he could be reformed. She just didn't know. But she knew she wasn't willing to betray the love of those she was sure of for the sake of someone she wasn't.

Claire slid off the bed, and, gathering her clothes, put them on as quickly as she could, praying each second that he wouldn't awaken.

Thankfully he remained asleep as Claire tiptoed out of the room, out of the house, and, part of her hoping, out of his life forever.

Sylar awakened, but didn't open his eyes just yet. His whole body felt wonderful. He'd had a release like he'd never felt before. Oh, Claire was a dream. She was delicious in so many ways. Sylar found himself thinking, with a certain level of incredulity, that if he had her with him for the rest of his life, he'd never be hungry for anything else again.

But then he opened his eyes and turned over in bed, and she wasn't there. He sat up in horror, frantically looking around the room. "Claire?" he called. He jumped out of the bed and looked in the bathroom, the living room, and would have torn the room apart if there had been anything to tear.

"She's gone," he said out loud. Then a voice in his head said, _of course she's gone, Gabriel. Do you really think she'd stay with a murderer like you?_

"No!," Sylar said, running to the window, heedless of the fact that he was naked. He slammed his fists against the glass, screaming, "Claire! Claire! Claaaaaaaaaiiiiiiire!"


	4. Chapter 4

Claire could almost hear Sylar's crazed voice calling after her, even though she was now several blocks from the Ryan Avenue. She was glad she had brought a jacket; walking on the streets with a bloodstained shirt was sure to attract attention. However, the dark red fluid was beginning to seep through the jacket; she couldn't hide it for too much longer.

There was a clothing store not too far away, which was about to close. Claire darted into the store, not caring what she could find. She grabbed a short black t-shirt, paid the clerk, and went back on the street, looking around with terror to see if Sylar was around. Much to her relief, she didn't see him. She then ran into a coffee shop a few doors down from the clothing store, darted into the bathroom and changed her shirt, leaving her bloody pink sweater in the trash. After she was done, she took a quick look at herself in the mirror. Aside from looking tired and afraid, no one would ever believe she had just been choked, thrown against a wall, and stabbed through the chest with a knife.

She now headed towards the bus depot. She checked the schedules and tried to come up with a reasonable place to go. She decided, finally, to go to Ridgemont, which was one state over in Oregon. It was close enough that she could find her way back or give her father directions to find her, and far enough that Sylar might not think to look there.

The bus doors opened with a whoosh of air. Slowly Claire boarded the bus and sat down, leaning her head against the window rail. She felt very tired all of a sudden. There was no one sitting next to her, and she was about to move her bag from between her feet to that particular seat when Peter materialized there, sitting next to her. He turned to her with the most angry look on his face that she had ever seen.

"Peter!," Claire exclaimed, startled.

"Surprised to see me, aren't you?" Peter said in a snarky manner. "What the hell are you doing?"

Claire's eyes filled with tears automatically. "I need to go," she said. "I'm only hurting the people I love by staying here."

"You're running from what you've done," Peter said. "I saw you and Sylar together."

Claire felt like she had been struck across the face. "You…you saw?" she whispered.

Peter leaned forward. "Yes. How did that happen, Claire? Please tell me Sylar has some power of mind control."

Claire leaned back in her seat and shook her head. "I wish it was as simple as that, Peter. I know, I know! Every bit of logic in me says that what I did was wrong, but…"

"But?"

"I'm attracted to him. In the worst way. And when I was with him, I felt like—I felt that…I don't know, that I was seeing more of him than we thought possible."

"You fucked him and now you think he's a great guy?"

"I didn't say that!" Claire was practically yelling through her tears. A couple of their fellow passengers were staring. Self-conscious, Claire lowered her voice. "I know what he's done. But I feel that maybe…maybe there's the chance…that he could change. For the better."

Peter groaned. "Claire, he's killed ten people, that we know of! Without mercy, or remorse! He's had his chance to change! He needs to die!"

"But he didn't kill me, doesn't that show he's changed? And there was a man with a special power he told me about. He was tempted, but he didn't do it!"

Peter sighed and took her face in his hands. "Claire, you're young. You've been fooled. Please. Come with me. I'll take you to the airport and put you on a plane to Paris. You'll meet my mother there. That way, you'll be safe, your family will be safe…and you'll never have to see Sylar again. Please, just for once, do what I tell you?"

Claire looked at Peter. He loved her. Like a sister, she was sure. If things could have been different…but they weren't. But he did love her, and all he wanted was to keep her safe. How could she defy him? And he was right—she could be wrong about Sylar. He might turn on her at any moment. So, reluctantly, she nodded.

Peter drew her to him and hugged her. Once she was safely on the plane, he decided, he was going to find Sylar and murder that lying, manipulative, sadistic bastard.

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

As soon as he knew she was gone, Sylar threw his clothes on and practically flew out of the house. How could she leave him like that? Didn't she know it would kill him if she did? Well, he was going to get her back.

Stalking down the street, Sylar could hear that voice in his head again, saying, _You're a killer, Gabriel. Claire doesn't want a killer. She wants a boy scout, like Peter Petrelli_.

"No! She does want me! She does!" Sylar yelled out loud, much to the alarm of his fellow pedestrians.

He stopped short in the middle of the road, frantically trying to think of where she might be. Then it dawned on him: there was a good chance she wouldn't go home, because she'd know he'd look for her there. Claire might try to leave the state, maybe even the country. The airport. It wasn't too far away. He turned in the opposite direction and ran.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Ok. Thanks, Peter," Noah said, ending the call with his daughter's uncle. He shut his cell phone and sat down on a bench in the park, rubbing his eyes. He now had to call Sandra and give her the good news that, yes, Claire was all right, but Peter was taking her to Paris to be with her grandmother, for an undetermined amount of time. He sighed deeply. This was so much easier when he had the power to wipe his wife's memories. He was able to spare her so much heartache.

"Noah!" called a voice. It was Hikaro Nakamura. The Japanese businessman came and sat on the bench next to him.

"What do you want?" Noah asked testily.

"Why, to see how you are, my friend," Nakamura told him. "I see that you didn't take my advice and stay out of Claire's affairs. Peter Petrelli can be convincing, I know. What with his righteous words and his impassioned beliefs. But, in the end, it happened just as I had seen it."

"What happened?" Noah asked, almost afraid to know.

Nakamura chuckled. "I'm a bit of an artist. And I decided to sketch it out for you."

With that, he handed Noah a drawing done roughly in pencil on a sheet of paper. Noah looked at it with wide eyes. There, was Claire, unmistakably, with her forehead pressed against that of a man who could be no one else but Sylar. They had their arms around one another. They weren't happy, but they were intimate.

"You…can see the future? Like Isaac Mendez could?" Noah asked him.

Nakamura smiled. "No. Not quite. You see, Isaac, and now Sylar, see the future. I, however, see the present."

Noah snorted in disdain. "Some power. We can all see the present. You don't need powers for that."

"Ah, you don't understand, my friend," Nakamura chided. "I see all moments of that present at once. I know what is going on all over the world at a particular moment in time. Normal people can only experience what is happening to them. But I can experience what is happening to _anyone_. I have only to think about it."

"That's where your son got his power," Noah deduced.

Nakamura shrugged. "From me, and from his mother. Noah," he began, turning to face his old friend, "do you remember the day I gave Claire to you?"

Noah smiled nostalgically. "Of course. You put a tiny infant in my arms and I was scared to death."

"And do you remember what I told you afterwards?"

Noah's smile fell. "That one day I'd have to let her go."

Nakamura nodded. "Yes, my friend. I'm sure you thought I meant you'd have to let her go to the company, but what I meant was to her destiny. Right now, at this very moment, Claire is about to make a choice that will decide the course of the rest of her life. And only she can make it. She has gotten all she could from you; you and your wife raised her to be good. Now it is time for you to take your wife and your son, and move on with your life."

Noah sighed. "So you're telling me to abandon her?"

Nakamura smiled, and clapped his old friend's shoulder. "No. I'm telling you to let her go."

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Sylar stalked his way through the airport, desperately trying to pick up sounds that might lead him to his Claire. But there was so much interference: the loudspeakers, hundreds of people talking at once, the sounds of the cars and the planes. It was enough to give him headaches like when he first took the power from Dale.

Dale…one of the many people he'd killed. She never did him any harm; she just fixed cars and listened to rap music. But she was special and he killed her.

_You're a murderer, Gabriel_, the voice sang in his ears. _You'll always be one._

Sylar shook his head to rid himself of the voice and kept looking. His eyes stopped once he caught a glimpse of a head of blonde hair. His telescopically gifted eyes centered on it and focused. Yes! There she was!

She was holding the bag she had when they met on the street, and she was speaking to a woman behind the desk, who handed her a ticket. She smiled and thanked the woman, but he could see that her eyes were sad, like they usually were.

"Oh," he said to himself in awe, smiling. He was so close. He was going to have her now.

But then, someone else came into the picture that turned his smile into a grimace of disgust. It was the pretty-boy cubscout, Peter Petrelli, his hands on her shoulders, whispering in her ear. No doubt she'd told him everything, and he was now determined to get her as far away from Sylar as possible. Sylar's fists clenched, and began to radiate heat and light, but he noticed it in time and calmed himself down. He had planned to kill Petrelli right then and there, but that would be no good. Claire would see, and he'd lose her. No; he would let her board the plane, and he'd find out where it was headed, so that eventually he could meet up with her there.

Then he'd track Petrelli down and kill him. The little goon would be out of his hair forever, and besides, once he killed him, he wouldn't have to kill anymore. All he'd have to do is be among people with powers, and he'd automatically have them too. He'd dispose of the body thoroughly, so no one (especially Claire) would find out what happened to him. Yes; that was the best plan.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Nearly a mile away, on the other side of the airport, Peter gave his niece a last hug.

"Call me as soon as you get there," he told her.

Claire smiled. "I will. And tell my dad I'll call him too. Thank you, Peter."

"Hey," Peter said, cupping her face in his hands. "You've saved my life, over and over again now. It's the least I could do."

Claire smiled again, and, waving, walked through the gate to the plane.

Peter sighed as the last trace of her was gone through the ramp. He'd kept her safe. But, he wouldn't feel secure until he was sure her plane was up in the air and headed to Paris.

He went over to the courtesy desk and asked if there was anywhere that he could watch the planes taking off that was private. The agent told him that there was the waiting area for the mile-high club members only. He smiled and asked where it happened to be, just for future reference. She pointed him in the right direction.

Once he was away from sight, he became invisible and walked carefully to the room. It was dark and empty. But from the huge glass windows, Peter could see all the planes in the lot. He would sit down and wait to see Claire's plane, the American Airlines, take off.

"Must be a slow night," Peter said out loud to himself.

"That's what I thought too," said a voice from the darkness. Peter turned around, startled. A figure emerged from the darkness and flicked its wrist. Instantly Peter was thrown across the room and smashed against a row of chairs.

Sylar smiled. "Hello, Petrelli."

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Claire found her seat on the plane and sat down, greeting the large red-haired woman who was seated next to her at the window. Evidently the woman took Claire's "hello" to be an invitation for chit-chat.

"Going to New York too, dear?" the lady asked in a Southern drawl.

Claire, who really didn't feel like talking at this point, but still felt the need to be polite, smiled and shook her head. "To Paris," she said simply.

"Oh! My my! I always wanted to go there myself! You ever been before?"

"No."

"Oh, well then! This should be a treat! Business or pleasure?" the lady pressed.

Claire internally rolled her eyes but replied as sweetly as she could. "I guess you could say pleasure. I'm trying to avoid some drama here."

"Oh honey, I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes you just have no choice but to run from your problems."

Until then Claire had her eyes closed, hoping the woman would think she was tired and get a clue, but now she opened them and looked at her seatmate. "Run?" she asked.

"Well, yeah, honey! Why deal with all the "drama" as you put it, when someone else can do it for you? Make your life as easy as you can, is what I always say."

Claire's eyes widened. She was leaving her problems behind! And they were problems only she could fix! Her mind returned to the picture that Sylar had painted of them together, and then to what Mr. Nakamura had said: _Make passion your weapon_. She finally got it. It was never her job to kill Sylar; it was to bring him back from the wrong way. Her passion wasn't sex; it was her goodness, her determination to do good in this world. She realized now that she could never kill Sylar; but she could change him. That was the power she could have over him. It all made sense now!

Her seatmate brought her back to reality. "You ok, hon? You look like you just had a million things run through your mind just now!"

Claire looked at her seatmate and shrugged. "I did. Now I know I have to go." She grabbed her bag from under her seat and squeezed herself out of the aisle.

"Go? But honey, you just got here!" her seatmate called after her.

Claire flew through the aisles of the plane and made it to the entrance just as the flight attendant was about to close the door. Apologizing for her rash decision, she leapt onto the ramp and ran back to the gate.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Peter, groaning, collected himself from the chairs to face Sylar. The tall murderer remained where he stood.

"You afraid, Petrelli?" Sylar taunted.

"Not at all," Peter replied, and with a flick of his wrist send Sylar sprawling through the air and against the wall. "I'm glad you found me. Now I can make you pay for what you did to Claire."

At the mention of her name Sylar's eyes lightened slightly. "I did nothing to her," Sylar hissed, and used his radioactive powers to send a flame of energy across the room to burn Peter.

Peter screamed in agony, but his reddened flesh quickly began to heal itself, turning back to its original olive hue. Eyes burning with anger, he made himself invisible and lunged toward Sylar, landing a perfect left and then right hook on his unwitting face.

"You did nothing, huh?" a disembodied voice said. Sylar looked around frantically to find it. "She's only 18, and you fucked her like she knew what she was doing! It's bad enough that you're a killer; did you have to add molestation to the list as well?"

Sylar's hearing told him the voice was coming from up above him. With a point of his finger, he aimed at the voice and pointed down, and hoped that telekinesis would work even if he couldn't see the object. A dull heavy thud and a groan told him, joyfully, that it did.

"What's going on in here?" a voice called from the door. Peter and Sylar both looked up to see a guard standing there. Peter materialized involuntarily, which shocked the guard, but Sylar pointed his finger at the man and sent him flying out of the room and into the hallway.

After a frantic search for Peter, Claire was nearing the members only lounge when she saw the guard get thrown into the corridor, frightening a number of passersby. Claire looked into the room and saw two figures moving about combatively. Peter and Sylar. She knew she had to do something, and when she looked down, she saw that the guard's gun had fallen out of its holster and slid several feet away with the impact. Quickly she ran to it and picked it up, and was about to the enter the room when the injured guard said, "Stop, girl! You'll get killed if you go in there!"

Claire turned back and smiled. "Maybe. But I'll make sure no one else gets hurt." Then she went into the room and closed the door behind her.

Claire pointed the gun at Sylar and shouted, "Enough! Stop it!"

Peter and Sylar looked at Claire, then at each other. But Sylar was the faster. He sent Peter flying to the wall and pinned him there. Peter screamed and tried to free himself, but Sylar had more experience using the power than he.

"I have to kill him, Claire," Sylar said determinedly. "Once I kill him, I'll have all the powers I need. I'll be done."

"No, you won't," Claire said. "The way you're going, you'll never have enough. You have to stop _here_. It has to end _here_," she took a step toward him, but he backed away.

"I have to be special," Sylar growled. "I deserve these powers. I should have yours too! But-"

"But what? Why haven't you killed me yet?" Claire asked him, hope in her eyes.

"Because," Sylar said with a sidelook. "Because I'm weak. But I kill him," Sylar said, pointing to Peter, who was beginning to look like he was losing air, "and I'll be strong again."

Claire's heart fell. What could she do? Then she had a thought. A dangerous thought.

"Well," Claire said, now pointing the gun away from Sylar and to her own head, "there's only one thing left for me to do. Let Peter go or I'll blow my brains out. And you, better than anyone else, know how this works. It's all in the brain. I pull the trigger and I don't ever come back."

In spite of his own suffering, Peter's eyes widened in terror for his niece. What the hell was she doing?

Sylar was terrified too, but he tried to maintain an apathetic tone. "You're not going to kill yourself, Claire," he said calmly. "You love your life."

"And I love Peter too," Claire said. "And if killing myself means that it will give Peter a chance to escape you, then I'll do it. If he lives, part of me lives on, too. That's one thing you still haven't learned, Sylar. You're not really alive until you put someone else's life before yours."

Sylar's mind whirled with a mass of thoughts. The easiest thing to do would be to release Peter, so that Claire would take that gun away from her head. But then what? Spare them both? He needed Peter in order to get what he had wanted all this time. He could pretend to release Peter, so Claire would take the gun away, and then quickly kill him, but Claire would try to stop him and he'd either hurt her again, or she'd hate him, even more than she already did. Then the voice inside his head spoke again.

_Why are you even losing time on this, Gabriel? What does it matter to you if an 18 year old girl kills herself? You have Petrelli, get on with it and kill him! _

"Shut up!" Sylar yelled out, holding his head with one hand put keeping the other trained on Peter so he wouldn't escape.

Claire was beginning to lose confidence. She couldn't stand here forever, holding this gun to her head while Peter was suffering. Something had to be done. Even with the cold metal barrel placed against her temple, Claire had to smile. Maybe this was what she was meant to do, all along. If she killed herself, Sylar would be distracted long enough for Peter to get free and stop him. And maybe her death would turn Sylar. There were so many "maybes." But, in that moment, that was all she had.

She looked at Peter with love in her eyes, love that he returned whole heartedly, despite his agony. She would put his life before hers, he who was her rescuer, her protector, her brother in spirit.

She felt a tear fall. "Goodbye," she said, and pulled the trigger.


	5. Chapter 5

In spite of his reduced breathing, Peter screamed out, "No! Claire!" and found himself falling to the ground. He caught his breath and coughed, and then, in misery, looked up to where Claire had stood.

She was lying in Sylar's arms. Peter charged over to him, and, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders, threw him as far away as he could from his niece.

"Get away from her, you bastard! It's your fault she killed herself!" he cried in a broken voice.

"She's not dead," Sylar said quietly, crawling back to the prone body on the floor. "At least, not to the point that she couldn't come back."

Peter nearly cried out in relief. He gently turned Claire's head to find that the bullet hadn't gone in all the way. There was a bloody hole, but the shiny metal could still be seen.

Sylar spoke softly again. "The moment I saw her finger begin to pull the trigger, I stopped the bullet with my power," he explained. "That's why you dropped suddenly to the ground. But I couldn't stop it from penetrating her skin. I lunged and caught her in my arms, to prevent the impact with the ground from actually causing it to go in further."

It was grotesque, but to Peter, the bullet lodged part way in Claire's skull was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He laughed through a sob. "She's going to live," he whispered.

The two men looked up when they heard noises from the other side. The patrons must have heard the gun go off and were battering the door down to get in.

Peter turned to his former enemy, now his co-conspirator. "Quick! We have to get this bullet out of her!" he said.

Sylar nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife that Claire had tried to use to stab him, that he had actually stabbed her with. "Hold her head," he told Peter.

Working as quickly and gently as he could, Sylar grimaced as he dug deeper into the wound, creating more space around it. Then, when the bullet was loose, he deftly plucked it out with his fingers and threw it aside. Instantly the wound closed up, leaving nothing put a bloody stain on the side of Claire's head. Sylar shook his head in wonderment. Amazing.

She opened her eyes and coughed, then looked up at the two men who were, just a moment ago, trying to kill each other. They both smiled down at her. "I'm alive?" she whispered hoarsely.

Peter helped her to her feet. "You're alive," he said, and embraced her.

Just then, the doors burst open, and they were surrounded by airport security. Like a flash Sylar took his baseball cap off his head and fit it over Claire's, to hide the bloodiness of her hair.

The chief officer told them to put their hands over their heads and not to move, which, much to the surprise of Claire, Sylar did as well.

Then they heard a voice. "You may put your guns away, gentlemen. Everything is in order here." Claire knew that voice from somewhere. It was refined, yet forceful at the same time. From between the guards appeared Mr. Nakamura.

After he convinced everyone to leave, Mr. Nakamura turned back and smiled at the motley crew. "So? I guess my lesson was valuable to you, my dear Claire."

Claire felt a sudden rush of affection, and hugged Mr. Nakamura, then just as quickly remembered from her world cultures class that the Japanese didn't believe in grand displays of affection. But her fears were allayed when the older man chuckled and patted her back tenderly.

Sylar and Peter looked at each other in confusion. They still hated each other, to be sure, but they were at least united in their puzzlement.

Releasing Claire, Mr. Nakamura looked at the two young men, seeming to size them up. "Well. I know you have had an exhausting night, gentlemen, but we still have much to work out. If you'll both please come with me—and you too, of course my dear—I'll make sure you're comfortable and taken care of." Then, without any acknowledgement, he turned and left the room, knowing already that all three would take his offer. After all, where else had they to go?

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"No! No. No!" Peter practically shouted at Mr. Nakamura in his office. "I don't care if he saved her life. I don't care if he's beginning to have feelings for her. He's a cold blooded murderer. He deserves to pay for what he's done!"

"And he will," Mr. Nakamura answered calmly. "He's going to pay by setting things right—by doing good where he can. He's a powerful man, Peter. He's demonstrated that to you, personally, several times now. He would be a mighty weapon against evil. But he must be…rehabilitated, for lack of a better word. That's where Claire comes into play."

"You honestly expect me to allow my niece to go with that madman?" Peter demanded.

Nakamura chuckled. "My friend, you're not going to _allow_ anything. Claire is her own person, and she will make that decision for herself, as she has already clearly proven by resisting you—twice. Listen," he began, getting up from the desk and standing in front of Peter. "Let me tell you something. In all the years of my life, I have seen some things happen that have seemed nearly impossible. I've seen people who were at the brink of death bounce back. I've seen those who had practically succumbed to grief and despair find a reason to continue. And I've seen those who appeared to be beyond redemption become champions for the Way."

"Completely beyond redemption? I find that hard to believe," Peter said.

Nakamura smiled. "Believe it. I was one of them," he said to the surprised young man. "When I was your age I was cruel, ruthless, driven by self-aggrandizement. I would have killed anyone for what I wanted. And with my power, I could do practically anything. Morality was never part of the equation for me."

"So what happened?"

"A woman. A woman happened," Nakamura said, walking back to his desk and beginning to straighten things up. "She was the perfect balance of hardness and softness, just like Claire. She became Hiro's mother. I wouldn't be here with you today if it wasn't for her. She saved my life."

"And you think that the same thing will happen to Sylar? That his attraction to Claire will redeem him, and he'll join the good guys?"

"I don't know the future, my friend. I only know the present. And right now, at this moment, I know he's making the right choice."

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Sylar sat in the white, mostly empty room, assuming that he was being kept prisoner. That was fine. There really wasn't any place for him to go anyway. There wasn't anything for him to do, to look forward to. He hadn't seen Claire since they had been transported to Mr. Nakamura's office, she having been taken one way, he the other.

He saved her. He was terrified of losing her, and he saved her life. It seemed that it would be such a simple idea for him to comprehend, but he found it to be one of the most complicated things he'd ever faced.

He was Sylar. He had been called Murderer, Killer, Brain-Eater, Boogey-Man. Sylar took what belonged to him by cutting open the tops of people's heads and analyzing their brains to see how the mechanism worked. He left them dead and bleeding. But now…none of that mattered. That craving he had once had was gone. Even the voice he had begun to hear in his head, reminding him of what he was, was barely a whisper. What had happened to him?

He was roused out of his thoughts by a knock on the door, which jarred him to alertness.

"Come in," he said.

It was her. Hair and body freshly washed, wearing a short, lavender-colored dress with black pumps. Simple, but breathtaking. That was Claire, always.

She carried in her hand a brown paper bag and a can of coke. She started to smile, which made him feel light, then seemed to think better of it and kept her face serious. Sylar felt his heart fall. Despite what she said, she was still very much afraid of him.

She spoke before he had the chance to. "I told Mr. Nakamura's guards that you might be hungry, so they allowed me to bring you something to eat." Without waiting for an answer, she put the food down on the small table in the corner.

Sylar stood up, and noticed she moved back a step when he did that. He sighed. "Thank you," he told her. He began to walk to it, wondering if she would move away again, but she stood where she was.

"You're welcome," she told him, as he picked up the bag and began to look through it. "And-and I wanted to thank you too. For saving my life."

Sylar stopped, and looked at the petite blonde, framed in the doorway. Was this her way of warming to him? He smiled. "You're welcome. I'm glad I kept you from doing something foolish."

She smiled too. "I'm glad I kept you from doing something foolish too. You spared Peter as well."

Sylar's smile faded instantly with the mention of that man's name. He knew it. She was in love with him. Maybe she didn't know it yet, but he could see it. She loved Peter, and Sylar had spared his life. He felt the anger build in him. He wished he could have killed that softie boy-wonder when he had the chances before.

As if she read his thoughts, Claire explained. "I think of Peter as an older brother, although he's my biological uncle. It's mostly because we're so close in age…and because we've been through so much together…" Claire's voice trailed off at this point, as she pretended to look out the window, even though it was too far up for someone of her height to see out of.

Sylar dared to step closer to her. "So…you're…not in love with him?" he asked, rather stupidly.

Clare looked back at him and snorted. "That's a little twisted, even for freaks like us," she quipped, but then seemed to give it a little more thought. "I probably had a crush on him the first night we met, and it helped, of course, that he was my handsome rescuer…" she trailed off again, realizing who she was talking to.

"He rescued you from me," Sylar said matter-of-factly, remembering that night.

Claire now narrowed her eyes, looking at him. "Yes," she said. "You tried to kill me that night. You threw me against a locker and mangled my face and broke my leg. And you would have succeeded if it hadn't been for Peter." She took a shuddering breath and began to walk out of the room.

Sylar tried to catch her. "Wait, Claire—"

"He wants us to travel together," she interrupted quickly, her eyes down on the floor.

Sylar stared at her. "What?"

"Mr. Nakamura. He wants us to travel together, putting right what's wrong, solving crimes, that kind of thing."

Sylar was taken aback. "And-and is this…something you'd want to do…with me?" he asked, almost shyly.

Claire looked up at him, finally, her face resolute. "I can't have sex with you again," she said frankly.

He was puzzled, a little disappointed, but mostly just confused. "I'm sorry?"

"I shouldn't have allowed it to happen the first time. But I was so attracted to you…and you appealed to something dark and violent in me. But if we do this, it can't be because of your feelings for me alone. It has to be because you want to change your ways."

With that, Sylar placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him, one on one. "Claire. I'm a bad man. I've done bad things. I can't change overnight. Even I know that."

"I know you can't," Claire said, her voice growing heavy with emotion. "But you've done one good thing so far—you saved me. And I don't think that I have to be the only person you'll ever save. When we were…together, I saw that you can care. You have the capacity for caring. And maybe…I can help you."

Sylar took his hands off of her shoulders and looked at her somewhat coolly. "What happens if I refuse?"

Claire shrugged just as frostily. "I'm willing to bet no prison could hold you, even Mr. Nakamura's, if he did want to keep you. You could go about doing what you do best, although you know Peter and the others will do their damnedest to stop you. You could go back to fixing watches—since it's the second thing you do best. You could try something entirely different—if you wanted to. But, whatever one of these options you take, I can guarantee you that you'll never see me again."

She said it so easily and flatly that Sylar knew she was telling the truth. It was what he admired about her: no matter the situation, she always was honest. But the thought of never seeing her actually scared him. "Are you sure?" he asked, almost childlike.

She nodded. "I'm sure. It's your life to live, Sylar. Just as you want."

"But according to you," Sylar said, walking closer to Claire, "I won't really be living until I put someone else's life before my own?"

Claire tilted her head back, but didn't back away entirely. "That's right."

"Then," Sylar said, "I think…I'm ready to learn how to live." With that, he lowered his head to kiss her.

It felt wonderful, but Claire broke the kiss quickly. "I can't…love you yet, not until I'm sure you've completely changed."

Sylar chuckled bitterly. "I know you couldn't. I wouldn't expect any less from you."

Claire's eyes widened with surprise, but then she cleared her throat and said, "Well. I'll tell Mr. Nakamura the good news." She began to walk to the door but stopped and turned around. "Why don't we both tell him?" she suggested lightly.

Sylar smiled and followed his destiny.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

This was the phone call she had been dreading the most to make, next to telling Peter, of course. Thankfully Mr. Nakamura had already done her the favor of telling her overprotective uncle, so now it was just a matter of telling her father—the man she had called "father" all these years.

She asked Sylar to leave her alone, and asked Peter to stay nearby, in case her father had a shit fit and she needed backup. With trembling fingers she dialed her father's cell phone, her heart pounding with every ring.

At the fourth, he picked up. "Hello?" came Noah's tense voice.

"Dad?" Claire asked.

"Claire-bear!" he exclaimed with joy. "Where are you?"

"I'm with Mr. Nakamura. He has work for me," Claire said directly.

There was a pause on the other end. Then, Noah said, "I know. He told me that you would."

"He-he wants me to work with Sylar, Dad. To…bring him back to the "Way" as he calls it." Claire now winced. She was afraid of how her father would react.

Another long pause, then a sigh. "I know, Claire. He showed me the picture of you two. And even though my fatherly instincts make me want to drag you away from all of that mess, it's not my place to do so."

Claire's eyes widened in surprise. "So…you're letting me go?" she asked.

"Yes. I knew I would have to someday," Noah told the woman he'd raised as his own.

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Peter stood outside the door, watching Claire speak to Noah. After a few minutes, she looked at him through the window and gave him the thumbs-up sign. He smiled and returned it.

As Claire seemed to be doing fine, Peter decided to take a walk around the complex. He had turned down a different corridor and found Sylar there, leaning against the wall, his back to him. Peter felt rage boiling in him. He stalked up to Sylar, spun him around, and punched him hard in the stomach.

The tall man doubled over, breathless. But he didn't fight back. Instead he said, "I guess I deserve that."

"You deserve much more than that," Peter spat. "But I'll content myself with it."

"You're hoping Claire kills me eventually, don't you?" Sylar asked, almost sincerely.

Peter lunged at Sylar and grabbed him by the collar. "If you do anything—anything at all to hurt Claire, I will hunt you down and kill you, you understand me?"

Sylar grinned wickedly. "You haven't been able to kill me so far, Petrelli."

But Peter didn't grin back. He replied, "I promise you—if Claire gets hurt, I won't fail."

Sylar looked at the man who had been his bitter enemy, and actually believed him. "Threat noted. I'll behave myself."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

She was close to being ready. Right after she'd hung up with her father, she told Peter his reaction, which was a bit of a surprise to him as well. They drove back to the Gaither home, and she said goodbye to the family she had known. Noah had told her quietly that Sandra didn't know she was going with Sylar, and Claire admitted that it was probably the best thing to do—to keep it secret. Sandra held her and cried, Lyle kissed her on the cheek and punched her in the arm (he had an image to maintain, after all), and then, at last, Noah walked her out to the car, where Peter was waiting.

He tried to hold her to him as long as he could, but eventually he had to break the embrace. "I love you, Claire-bear," he told her. "I always will."

Claire held her father's face in her hands and wept. "You will always be my father, no matter what happens."

Noah looked over at Peter, who nodded. "Take care of yourself," he finally said.

Claire walked backwards and waved. "I will. You taught me," she told him.

As Peter drove away, Claire looked back to see her parents and Lyle, framed in the doorway, looking back at her. They were a family. And they deserved to live happy, quiet lives. By leaving them, she was giving them the best gift she could ever give.

After saying goodbye to her family, she returned to Mr. Nakamura, who provided her with enough money and a car. He personally walked with her to the lot where the car was parked, and where Peter was waiting for her.

Claire smiled when she saw the car. It was a brand new Ford Mustang in dark blue and silver, just like the one she had been eyeing before but knew her father would never buy.

Claire didn't know why she felt close to Mr. Nakamura, but she did, and he seemed to feel it too. This time, he initiated the hug. "Goodbye, my dear," the Japanese businessman told her. "You are going to do great things. I know it."

She smiled at him. "Thank you. For all you've done," she told him.

She turned her attention to Peter, whose heart looked like it was about to break. She knew he still hated the idea of her traveling alone with Sylar, but now grudgingly accepted the fact that it was her choice to make, and she made it.

She wept as he held her. "Goodbye…brother," she told him.

He pulled away and cupped her face in his hands. "If you ever need me, if anything ever goes wrong…"

She nodded. "I know. You'll be there."

There really wasn't anything left to say. The two men watched the incredible young woman get into the car and drive away.

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Sylar stood to the side of the road, at the designated meeting spot. Peter hadn't wanted him anywhere near him when he said goodbye to Claire, and besides, it seemed a fitting way to begin their journey: with her coming to pick him up from his solitude.

_She's never going to trust you_, _Gabriel_, came that damned voice in his head of recent days. _You're a killer. You'll always be a killer._

But the voice was drowned out, mercifully, by the sound of a horn. Sylar looked behind him and saw the blue/silver mustang slow down and pull up to him on the side of the road.

It was Claire, dressed in a white button down dress shirt and a navy blue skirt. She leaned over the opened the door for him. "You ready?" she asked.

Sylar took a deep breath. "Yes, I think I am." He got into the car and it got back onto the road.

They were silent for several minutes. Sylar looked over at Claire, who seemed to be concentrating on driving. At last he couldn't stand it anymore.

"So…where are we going?" he asked her.

She looked over at him and smiled slightly. "I don't know. Wherever our travels take us, I guess. Mr. Nakamura said there was no plan; we'd just go and do good where we can."

Sylar snorted at the lack of direction. It was so unlike him. His entire life was either regimented, or he was plotting his next move. This lackadaisical approach was new to him, but he was pretty sure he liked it.

He gazed out onto the wide, empty stretch of road and chuckled to himself. Claire looked over at him, puzzled. "What are you laughing at?" she asked him.

Sylar grinned at her in his dark, seductive way. "So this is the road to Redemption? I hope we don't come across too many potholes."

For the first time since they began, Claire smiled openly. "We'll drive it as slow as you want," she told him, meaningfully.

Anyone passing by in their car wouldn't have suspected it, but that blue and silver mustang carried two extraordinary people who, unbeknownst to them, were fated to save the world. But first, they had to drive.


End file.
